


Suds Crossing

by turps



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:14:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard works in a magical laundromat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suds Crossing

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the picfor1000 challenge on livejournal.
> 
> The challenge is to write a story of exactly 1000 words based on a picture prompt. My prompt is [here](https://www.flickr.com/photos/satanslaundromat/11606243/in/photostream/lightbox/).
> 
> As always, thanks to themoononastick for the excellent beta.

If he’d been asked -- which he hadn’t been, that’s an important part of this story -- Gerard would have said yes. 

Sure he would have been reluctant to take the assignment. That was inevitable when Gerard had spent most of his early teen years dreaming of echoing ice-caves or shadowy doors concealed deep in the subway. But the truth was, Gerard wasn’t given a choice.

The fact is: at his level and experience all you can do is take the job that you’re given. It’s just. Well, it’s just, Gerard wished it hadn’t been this.

Sure, being the guardian of a rip between worlds is a cool job and one Gerard’s aspired to since first coming into his _other_. And truthfully, if pushed Gerard would admit enjoying his work. But the location? Gerard can’t love this rundown and frustrating laundromat.

~*~*~*~

“Guard the rip, they said. It’s important, they said.” Gerard kicks a huge bag, and then kicks it again when the bag tips on its side, spilling out a mini avalanche of musty and stained clothes. “They didn’t say I’d be scrubbing out dragon’s blood that’s soaked into leather.”

“Technically you don’t do that.” Mikey looks up from the magazine he’s reading, tilting his head toward the back room. “Ray did the last lot, with that bubbly acid shit he invented.”

Gerard shrugs, too caught up in his rant to allow Mikey’s point. Plus, even if it is technically true it was still Gerard who has to sort out the bags and dispose of stray bits of intestine. Which is fucking disgusting, and next time Gerard sees Frank he’s going to tell him just that. 

“And you would have hated the mountain post,” Mikey points out, putting down his magazine and stretching out his leg so he can tap one of the dryers with the toe of his boot. “No internet and living in a cave. Fuck that shit.”

Gerard picks up a shirt, frowning when something green and no doubt toxic drips to the floor. “The cave has living quarters, and I can cope without internet.”

“Of course you can, Mr-display-my-socks-and-food-to-the-world,” Mikey says, watching as an iridescent oversized firefly emerges from the dryer and darts out of the open front door. “And the cave pad isn’t that special. The fur quartz bed gets old.”

“I’d still like to try it,” Gerard says, brandishing a stiffened sock in Mikey’s direction when it looks like he’s about to reply. “I don’t want to know.”

“Know what?” Mikey grins and with a deft flick of his wrist, turns the sock into a shimmering black rose. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Good,” Gerard says, placing the rose in a nearby half full mug. “And you need to stop doing that, the trolls are protective of their clothes.”

“They won’t miss it,” Mikey says, seemingly unconcerned about any potential trolls in a sock-missing temper. “Their claws ruin the things, anyway.”

Which is true, and Gerard would admit that, except there’s something niggling that he has to say first. “If you did want to talk about the cave you can. I mean, I don’t want to know details or shit, but if you do want to talk…”

“Yeah?” Mikey hesitates a long time,his expression deadpan as Gerard leans against one of the washers, careful it’s the one that actually works and not one of the facades. Because really, falling into another dimension once was enough. “There’s nothing to say, things are fine.”

Gerard has to be relieved, mainly because he wants Mikey to be happy, but also, while Gerard has no issue with his little brother being part of a threesome, it’s awkward enough dealing with the other guardians without knowing what they do in their quartz fur bed. Not that Gerard is jealous -- much.

“The sand still sucks, though. Gabe treads it everywhere when he comes through the cave portal,” Mikey says, and stands, heading for the shelves where Gerard keeps his supplies. “Acid or sonic-boom vapour?”

Gerard looks at the pile at his feet, considering the damage. “Acid first, I’ll try vapour if they don’t come clean.”

Following Mikey’s example, Gerard gathers up an armful of clothes, breathing through his mouth when the movement causes a visible grey cloud. Eyes watering, he stuffs the clothes into a washer and says, “Fuck, I need to put in for a transfer.”

Bottle of acid detergent held at arms length, Mikey pours some into the machine. “You should. You’re easily a level three guardian by now, you banished that whisp like a boss.”

Gerard shudders, even now, weeks past the fact, he can still vividly remember gasping for breath as the whisp sucked all the air from the room and how the room span as Gerard gathered his powers for a last fatal blast. At the time it had been terrifying, but also exhilarating, the thing Gerard had trained for, a guardian in both title and action. 

“I’ll check the database later,” Gerard says, pressing start and kicking a stray blob of matter under the washer.

“I’ll ask Pete, too. He’s due back from the shire tonight,” Mikey says with a small smile. Detergent put safely away, he checks his phone, scrolling through messages. “Hey, what about the Disney post? Talk says the guardians bit it last week.”

“I heard that.” Solemn, Gerard sends out good wishes into the other, head bowed as he thinks of the guardians who met their end choking on pixie dust. “Fucking princesses, I always said they’re a menace.” 

“They’re fucking creepy.” A last look at his phone and Mikey shoves it into his pocket, his attention turned toward the biggest drier. “I can feel something coming, something big.”

“It’s the giants,” Gerard says, and takes a step back so he’s well out of range. “Keep back, those fuckers never look where they’re landing.”

Instantly Mikey moves to the front of the laundromat, the air charging as the rip widens and tears. Gerard standing firm as the first giant appears.


End file.
